Haruchiro

chapter: 4

"Why do you persist in clinging to your brother like a helpless baby?" she inquired, her confusion evident in her voice. "Why do you always tag along?" I retorted with a counter-question, to which, she simply responded with a broad smile. Relentlessly, I trailed him to his Dojo class, honing my combat skills alongside him. Somehow, she always tagged along with us, observing silently without intervening. Our cousin, Tsubaki, became inexplicably curious about both me and my brother. "Oi, Tsubaki! You came along too..?" Izumi big brother asked, surprised by her presence. She managed to get along with my brother, and Izumi big brother seemed to get along with her as well. It wasn't that I disliked her, nor did I particularly like her. I simply didn't know how to act around her. She was annoying.

Tsubaki charged towards one of the guests and punched her with her small fist. "How dare you! The death of Haruchi's mama is not to be laid upon another's shoulders, stop blaming Haruchi, you impudent fool!" Her tears flowed freely as she spoke. I watched, impassive, from a distance, until my brother intervened, offering apologies and withdrawing from the scene. That night, the world fell silent. a stark reminder of our mother's permanent absence. Mother would never return. I often found myself forgetting, once again, that this was her funeral. "Tsubaki, you truly are something, aren't you? When did you acquire such proficiency with your diminutive fists?" Izumi Aniki (big brother) broke the silence, his tone laced with laughter. "I have always trailed in your wake; you simply failed to notice," she exclaimed. "Is that so?" my brother teased, engaging her in playful banter. However, his tone shifted, adopting a solemnity as he admonished her, "But remember, it is unwise to lay hands upon others for trivial reasons." "It is not trivial! They blame Haruchi for his mother's death," she countered, tears welling in her eyes once more. "You crybaby," I muttered,. A big silent drop enveloped us. I continued, "And stop calling me Haruchi; I hate it." An uneasy silence descended upon us until my brother's laughter shattered the tension, followed by Tsubaki's own laughter. That's how I formed a bond with my cousin and began to have others by my side.

If only I had foreseen this outcome. I ought to have pushed them all away.

________________________

As I arrived in Tokyo, Takumi awaited me with a black car by his side. We entered the vehicle, embarking on our journey to Tenma's hideout. Departing from that village forever, the time spent there would forever remain an incomplete memory, or so I believed. Without incident, we traversed the day, Takumi's leadership in my absence proving unexpectedly proficient.

As we stood in the port, awaiting the arrival of the ship, my gaze swept over every detail, yet nothing seemed amiss on that chilly August night. Finally, after a while, they appeared: the Russian mafia. Amidst discussions of business and the execution of our tasks, a sense of foreboding lingered in my mind. Just as I feared, in the middle of the supposed smoothness of proceedings, a gunshot shattered the silence, and I turned to witness one of our own lying lifeless on the cold ground.

I had expected this outcome, my suspicions grinding at the edges of my consciousness. Uncertainty clouded the air—was the shot fired by an outsider or a participant in our dealings? As I glanced back, the figure representing the core of our business partnership aimed a weapon in my direction. Such scenarios had become a familiar dance to me, similar to a child's play in the park.

Before the man standing before me could react, I swiftly disarmed him, the crack of bone echoing in the night as his arm gave way beneath my grasp. With his own firearm now in hand, I swiftly ended his existence with a single shot to the forehead. His death sent ripples through the scene, chaos erupting in its wake.

Although I understood that such consequences seldom produced positive outcomes, a peculiar feeling stirred inside me.—a morbid sort of amusement, reminding of a vampire yearning for blood after a long absence. There was naught for me to do but watch from the sidelines as my associates engaged in combat, their lethal prowess on full display. Each adversary who dared to cross the ground where I'm standing met their end in the span of a heartbeat.

After a time, the scene before me painted a grim tableau: the lifeless bodies of both our business associates and our own comrades lay strewn upon the ground, their figures enveloped in a scarlet shroud of spilled blood, I urged Takumi that it was time to retreat from the maelstrom, lest the chaos leave behind damning evidence of our involvement.

Yet, even in our withdrawal, a sense of impending doom clung to me, as we were leaving, the wall upon us started to collapse. Just as we made our escape, a final gunshot pierced the air, as if it were a final gunshot to bring an end to the chaos. In its echo, a searing pain lanced through my chest, a cruel reminder of my mortality. It became apparent that I had become the target, a realization made manifest as I discerned the familiar silhouette of a figure standing amidst the shadows—a figure I knew all too well. "Kiyoshi?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath. Panic ensued among my comrades as they realized the gravity of the situation, yet despite the wound inflicted upon me, it did not strike a vital blow.

With haste, we made our escape, the wail of approaching police sirens punctuating the night air with an eerie precision. It was a meticulously planned chaos—a trap set to capture me, leaving me to ponder Kiyoshi's allegiance—had he become entwined with the ranks of the Russian mafia? Amidst the unfolding calamity, Takumi and I shared a silent understanding, making sure we successfully avoid the people chasing us disappearing into the night. And so, heading toward the place I thought I would never go to again.—the village I had once vowed never to return to.

On my way, I had this thought: what if this trivial wound were to lead me to death? Is that truly what I desire? Why then do I find myself fighting to live? Each passing day in this village weakens me further. As I reached into my pocket, my hand encountered a packet of medication, prescribed by Ishikawa. Despite my resolve to distance myself from this village, I still purchased it. Lost in thought while driving, the similarity between Ishikawa and her, Tsubaki, weighed heavily on my mind. Is it her similarity that I cannot resist? The question lingered, elusive in its answer.

Finally arriving in the village, I concealed my wounds, avoiding any prying eyes. Unable to seek help at the hospital, I relied solely on the supplies in my apartment. To exacerbate matters, a fierce fever gripped me on the way home, blurring my vision and causing dizziness. Nearly reaching my apartment, I spotted a blurry figure of a girl standing before me. The scent of her indicated it was Ishikawa, though I couldn't discern her expression as I fell into her arms. Soon, another set of footsteps approached, the owner engaged in heated argument. The debate centered on whether to take me to the hospital or to his apartment to care for me. As we made our way to the apartment building, I could sense that things were proceeding as the man wanted. Their voices faded into my ears as consciousness slipped away, and I lost consciousness.